by Julianne Lee
He opened his mouth to continue, but she butted in again. “Lucas, is it, perhaps, time to go home?”
His mouth closed, and his eyes darkened with disappointment. Lips pressed into a white line, he glanced around at the other folks, checking to see if anyone had heard how badly this conversation had gone for him.
“No chaperone. Your father will want to take you himself.”
“Ask him. I’m sure he’ll let you. He trusts you.”
Lucas nodded. “All right.” His voice was hard and flat as an iron griddle.
Shelby accompanied Lucas on the buckboard along Shackle Island Road toward the house. The entire trip was made in silence, but as it wore on Shelby began to tire and lean into him. His body was warm, and the night was growing colder by the minute. Soon she was pressing her cheek to his shoulder, and finally he put his arm around her. She scooted closer and rode the rest of the way in the deep comfort of Lucas’s body heat.
At the Campbell house, he helped her down from the buckboard and up the steps to the front door. One small lantern hung by the door was the only light on the porch, and in the dimness Shelby could see Lucas was hoping for a good-night kiss. Unable to resist, she reached up to slip her hand behind his neck and he leaned down to her.
It was fine. It was fun, but the fact turned over and over in her mind that he thought she was Mary Beth and to him this wasn’t fun and games. No matter how he might look at her, and send warm fuzzies to her belly, and melt her heart to goo with his bright smile and eyes deep as the evening sky, it was Mary Beth he saw and not herself. She released him, then turned to enter the house where Annie awaited to help her to bed.
Susannah Campbell married Tom Donelson the following month, and Shelby happened to know their first child would be a mite premature. Since there was no Methodist church within half a day’s ride of Hendersonville, the wedding took place at the Campbell house with the minister from Nashville officiating. Though the reception in the drawing room afterward was festive and well attended, the air alive with a small ensemble of well-trained musicians, Shelby found herself sagging into a sadness that colored all she saw. She fought it, and knew she was failing to conjure the proper cheer for the occasion. There was music, and dancing, and a great deal of excellent food. Everyone dressed in their finest, even the children who laughed and ran and played tag with each other among the women’s wide skirts and the men’s highly polished boots. Folks who noticed the look in Shelby’s eye tried to make her smile by assuring her she would surely find herself a husband soon, but that wasn’t what had her down.
It had been a month since her arrival in this century. Each morning she’d awakened to the realization she hadn’t been magically transported home during the night. Each night she’d gone to bed with the realization she’d spent yet another day of someone else’s life. Each Sunday when Father led the prayers and read aloud for the family that week’s sermon from Nashville, she beseeched God under her breath to send her home, and it was the most heartfelt prayer of her life. She wondered what was happening to her own life while she was gone. Or, more accurately, she wondered what would happen to her life when she would no longer occupy her body nearly a century and a half from now. When she returned to it, would she be still the same age as when she left? What if she were to spend years here? If she returned to a date later than when she’d left, would anything of her life remain for her? In that case, at what moment of the future would she return to?
From across the room, Shelby watched the radiant sister chat with her guests, surrounded by well-wishers and supported on Tom’s steadying arm. While Susannah’s future was gently laid before her, her new husband handsome and rich and motherhood practically a fait accompli, the uncertainty of Shelby’s own future was so boggling she found herself grasping furniture and walls next to her just to feel something solid and real beneath her hand.
Folks went on talking and laughing. The crowd flowed and eddied in the room, brightly colored, almost hysterically cheerful, and entirely too loud as folks talked above the music.
She had to get out of there. Her chest felt as constricted as her waist, and her throat wasn’t far behind. The only recourse was a retreat to the sitting room, far enough away from the revelry for privacy but not so far as to invite comment on her poor attitude. She held a glass of punch in her hands and perched on a footstool with her three wide hoops spread around her, barely breathing for the corset cinched in to make her fit this fancy dress with its ridiculous, small waist. Oh, how she wished for a pair of jeans!
After a minute or so, she was calmed enough to think about standing up again. She began to gather herself and her petticoats and her hoops for the undertaking, but paused when Lucas appeared at the door. He had a glass like the one she held, but instead of punch it held a generous splash of Father’s good bourbon. She hadn’t seen him since the dance last month. Though his hair had been carefully groomed for the occasion and combed back smooth against his head, a lock of it had fallen loose and dangled next to his right eye. He looked like a man who was well relaxed with the whiskey and any second now would unbutton his collar and let his tie hang loose. He said, “Are you feeling unwell?”
She straightened, though God knew she couldn’t have slumped much in this hellish encasement of a dress. Nevertheless, she was able to nudge her chin a little higher. “I’m fine.”
“Uh huh.” He took a single step into the room. “Are they being cruel?”
“No, actually everyone has been wonderful. And besides, I’m happy for my sister.” Absolutely true. Shelby was thrilled to see Susannah and Tom so gloriously in love and well matched. “She deserves all the happiness she can find.”
“Then why so down?”
No way could she tell him the truth. So she cast about for a flat lie and said, “I’ll miss her. She’s my only sister, we grew up together, and I’m going to miss her after today.”
A shadow passed over his eyes, and a droop came to his shoulders. He grunted and took a sip of his drink. It was plain he was disappointed by her answer, and had probably hoped for an opening to propose. “Well, then, I hope you’ll consider me a friend you can turn to for company. Or a sympathetic ear.”
She nodded, but refrained from inviting him to sit with her. Though he waited, she let him wait and then remained silent as he tossed back the remainder of his bourbon and slipped back out the door. Then he was gone.
All of a sudden the loneliness crashed in on her and she burst into tears. She laid her face in her hands and wept silently, shoulders shaking and tears dribbling between her fingers. Home. Please, God, send me home.
Chapter 9
With Susannah gone from the Campbell house, there was even less to keep Shelby occupied than before. Mother supervised the servants and Father supervised everyone else on the plantation, and that left Shelby by herself with plenty of time to teach herself to sew. With a little practice, the embroidery was simple enough to pick up, by reverse-engineering the decorated pieces in her closet. On scraps of cloth, she copied the designs over and over until a measure of competence developed. As soon as she felt confident with the stitching, she barricaded herself in her bedroom to begin dismantling her fancy dresses. Carefully, snipping stitches with the tiny swan scissors then sewing them again elsewhere, she let out each dress at the waist just enough to give her some breathing room. As thin as she was these days, it didn’t take much. Just a fraction of an inch at each seam, sewn back as slowly and carefully as she could manage. Sashes and bows hid a multitude of sins—she was certain Mother would be furious if she found out—and there was lots and lots of time in a day to be as careful as she needed.
The sedentary life she was leading was not to her taste any more than was being treated as if she were stupid or frail. During the early weeks of November, while the weather was crisp and cool but not too blustery, she went for walks near the house. A nice jog would have been better, but running in Mary Beth’s dresses was not going to happen. Particularly since breaking that
sort of sweat would have meant marinating in it for the rest of the day. So she walked until her feet ached.
On one of these walks, she was startled to encounter a rider in the woods. Samuel Clarence Daley approached on the trail and blocked her way with his horse.
“Hello, Samuel.” Where she stood, she wasn’t letting him by, either. She offered him only a bland stare.
He tipped his hat. “Good day, Mary Beth.” He seemed different today, with Lucas not around. A pleasant smile graced his face and the anger had left his eyes. He was almost handsome, and that surprised Shelby.
But then she thought of the things he’d done to Lucas with his knife and his lie. “That wasn’t very nice of you to lie to Lucas the way you did.”
Now his eyes darkened, and his countenance soured. “What do you mean?”
“Telling him I’d agreed to go to the Harvest Dance with you was pretty low.”
“I was under the impression we had an understanding.”
Shelby’s eyebrows raised. Did Mary Beth and Samuel have something furtive going on? She asked, “I’m afraid I don’t recall our discussion on that.”
He shifted in his saddle, and looked off to the horizon for a moment though it was obscured by trees, and Shelby gathered the “understanding” had been more like wishful thinking. He replied, “We didn’t talk specifically of the dance.”
She guessed, “You asked whether I would accept an invitation sometime, and I said you were permitted to extend one.”
“Then you do remember. And do you remember that you were the first to speak to me?”
She was puzzled by that, but then smiled. Poor Samuel was just clueless about dating. He must have taken a bit of friendliness as something more. “Samuel, I could hardly have accepted if you didn’t ask.”
He blinked. “But I did ask. You refused me.”
“I...” Now she didn’t know what to say, for this didn’t make sense in light of what had just been said. It took a moment to sort out in her head what must have happened, then she raised her chin and said, “You shouldn’t have told Lucas you were taking me until after you asked. I very nearly ended up without a date, and that would have been very upsetting.”
“You declined me on the hope he would ask you?”
“Yes.” No. She shut her eyes and cursed herself. “I mean, my father wanted him to take me.”
Samuel’s face reddened, and he continued to look everywhere but at her. He repeated in a low mutter, “Exactly. And so I thought we had an understanding. You didn’t care for your father’s meddling, and would surely go with me.” It would have been funny, like an Abbot and Costello joke, were he not so pathetic.
Then she ventured a question. “Samuel, why are you so angry with Lucas? I thought you two were good friends.”
Now he looked at her, and rage clouded his eyes again. “Lucas Robert has not been such a friend to me of late.”
“What has he done to you?”
Samuel shrugged. “It’s a private matter. I wouldn’t expect a girl to understand in any case.”
Oh, brother. Even in her own time Shelby had been awfully sick of hearing those words every time a man didn’t feel like telling her something personal. It wasn’t hard to guess that Samuel was angry at Lucas for not stepping aside to give a clear field. Perhaps he was beginning to chafe at always being the follower in their friendship. She said, “Well, it’s not good for you two to be feuding. I think you should settle it, whatever it is.”
“Oh, I’ll be settling it, all right.” That had the tone of a threat, and sent chills down Shelby’s spine. Then he said in a voice that was suddenly sweetness and light, “Mary Beth, I would still like to come calling sometime. May I?”
In an instant, Shelby knew what her reply must be. “No. I’m sorry, but no.” Mary Beth’s father had said what his opinion and Mary Beth’s feelings were on the subject of Samuel Clarence. Neither liked him much, and Shelby had no reason to disagree with that assessment. In any case, she could hardly invite a courtship with Daley she knew would be ill-received by all the Campbells. “I really am sorry, Samuel, but though I like you as a friend I just don’t see you as a boyf...as a suitor.”
The black rage came into his eyes once again, and he stared hard at his horse’s neck. “I see. Lucas Robert has gotten there before me.”
That made her blink. “Nobody has gotten anywhere, Samuel. I just don’t feel that way about you. I’m certain there are other girls around here who do, though.” Probably the hookers in Nashville had a soft spot for him. An expensive one, but soft nonetheless.
His gaze turned on her again. “Awfully presumptuous of a girl as plain as yourself, I think.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Turning away suitors. You’re not your sister, you know.”
Now it was her turn to look away and not speak, lest she lash out in anger and say something ugly she would pay for later.
He yanked on his horse’s reins and as he backed up he said, “Beware of trusting Lucas Robert. He’ll betray you just as he’s betrayed me. And you should hope I’ll still want you once he does.” With that, he wheeled and kicked his mount to a gallop among the trees.
Shelby watched him go, stunned. “Huh.”
That evening at supper, Shelby was in no mood to listen to Father’s ramblings about insane, rabble-rousing, busybody abolitionists. The monologue droned on and she listened with only half an ear, hoping to finish her supper in a not-too-noticeable hurry then be excused to her room for the rest of the evening. She cut her meat, eating the fat these days since she’d discovered she needed it to keep her weight up. But in the midst of his lecture the words of hatred came clear, and breasted her irritation threshold.
Though she knew it was a bad idea, she couldn’t keep herself from blurting, “I don’t think it’s right to own people.”
Father didn’t even look up from his plate as he cut his meat. “You know very well slaves aren’t people.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. One quick glance at Father, and she continued. “I know no such thing. Furthermore, it’s the humanity of the slave owner I doubt.”
That made him peer at her. “Mary Beth, you will have respect for your elders in this house.”
“I can prove blacks are people.”
He set down his silverware. Mother was frozen still, not daring to move. Father said, “You can? Then by all means share with us your so-called proof.” Ridicule was thick in his voice. The sort of fearful impatience of a man who wasn’t entirely certain he couldn’t be proved wrong.
Shelby kept her own voice even and her eyes on her plate as she fiddled with her food. “You know what a mulatto is.”
Father nodded. “Half-black, half-white.”
“And a quadroon is a quarter black, and an octoroon is an eighth black.”
Father shrugged. “So? Blacks and whites can make children. That means nothing. Horses and donkeys make mules.”
“But mules don’t make other mules. You can’t get one that’s only a quarter donkey, because hybrids can’t reproduce.”
He frowned, puzzled, and even more irritated for it. “Hy...what?”
“The offspring of two separate species can’t make more offspring. If blacks were a separate species from us, there would be no such thing as a quadroon, let alone an octoroon.”
Father shrugged again. “That means nothing. People aren’t animals.”
“Wouldn’t know it by you.” She returned her attention to her meat, and never saw the punch coming. The room exploded in stars and suddenly she found herself draped over the arm of her chair, looking at the floor. For a moment all she could do was marvel stupidly at the remarkable intricacy of the colorful Oriental rug under the table, then she gathered herself and carefully hauled herself back upright. For a moment, she couldn’t be entirely certain whether she was even sitting straight, or which way was up.
“Mary Beth!” Mother finally spoke, appalled now so that her eyes were wide and her voice trembl
ing.
Sharp pain radiated from Shelby’s jaw to her temple. She felt the jaw and moved it to make certain it wasn’t broken. Then she looked sideways at Campbell. “You hit me!” Nobody had ever in her life taken a swing at her. Nor even threatened such a thing. William Campbell had just slugged her with a closed fist.
Father’s attention was on his supper. He said nothing.
“Mary Beth,” Mother repeated, “Don’t you ever speak to your father like that again! You know better than that. My Lord, what has gotten into you, child?”
“He hit me!” Her hand laid against her face, she gawked wide-eyed at Mother now, equally appalled at her.
“He’ll hit you again if you don’t mind your manners. Honestly, Mary Beth, I just don’t know what to do with you any more.” Mother returned to eating, and Shelby could only stare at these two people who seemed to think nothing of violence at the supper table.
Tears stung the corners of Shelby’s eyes, and she stabbed a piece of meat on her plate. She wouldn’t eat it—couldn’t, for her stomach was in a knot. She only used it to shove other food around on her plate as if she were eating.
Father made an abrupt segue, not even pretending it wasn’t because he was angry. Suddenly he attacked the only freedom left to her, and it was plain he was doing it just to be ugly. “Mary Beth, I have heard tell of you taking walks by yourself of a morning.”
Shelby suppressed a groan and kept her eyes on her plate. “Yes.” She wondered if she had Samuel Daley to thank for tattling. As subtly as possible, she leaned hard on the chair arm and tilted away from Father.
“I can’t help but wonder where you go on these excursions.” His voice had a hard tone that seemed to suggest she was having trysts on the trail with whomever might happen by. Telling him she wasn’t would be fruitless, for Father was always right even when he was wrong. And any more she didn’t know what might cause her to be clobbered again.
She ignored the tone and replied in all innocence, “I take the track down to the creek and follow it toward the ferry.”
